


Two Sides of a False Coin

by Decepticonsensual



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29448468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: When Maul contacts Obi-Wan Kenobi out of the blue with the promise to lead him to the secret royal archive of a previously uncontacted world on the edges of wild space, Obi-Wan is wary, but the opportunity is too good to pass up.  Just one problem:  Obi-Wan and Maul have to pretend to be a married couple for a royal reception if they're to have any hope of getting in.Faking a loving relationship with your sworn enemy may be tricky, but Obi-Wan's prepared to go to any lengths to do his duty.And this definitely IS just about duty... isn't it?
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Darth Maul
Comments: 10
Kudos: 101
Collections: Star Wars Valentine's Exchange 2021





	Two Sides of a False Coin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [them_bonez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/them_bonez/gifts).



> This is a gift for them_bonez for the Star Wars Valentine's Exchange. Happy Valentine's Day, and thank you for the awesome prompt!
> 
> Warnings: slight suggestiveness; a brief scene of sexual harrassment (by an OC, not between Maul and Obi-Wan).
> 
> This is set in a kind of soft-AU space during the Clone Wars, somewhere between Maul's re-emergence and his alliance with Death Watch, while Maul and Savage are running around the galaxy establishing alliances and plotting revenge. The actual timeline of the show doesn't allow a whole lot of time to fit this story in, so I'm just imagining more of a space between those events.

“ _Kenobi.”_

That silken voice never fails to send a shiver down the back of Obi-Wan’s neck. And right now, it’s far too close – closer than he’d ever normally allow, close enough that he’d be dead by now if it weren’t for these highly… unusual circumstances.

Close enough that he can feel the warm breath ghosting over the skin of his throat.

“Maul,” Obi-Wan returns as evenly as he can. Instinctively, he widens his stance, bracing for what’s about to happen. “Are you quite prepared for this?”

The Sith circles him, feet silent on the polished floor, black silk clinging and swirling around his form like smoke. Maul pauses inches from Obi-Wan, and drops into a stance to mirror the Jedi’s. “Do you really think you’ll present much of a challenge?”

“Oh, I fancy I have one or two tricks left up my sleeve.”

Maul’s smile shows a flash of teeth, and something primal in Obi-Wan wants to cover his jugular.

They wait, suspended, facing one another; then, moving at the same instant, their arms extend, and –

Obi-Wan’s left hand meets Maul’s right, grappling and twining together. Obi-Wan brings his free arm up, just as Maul’s snakes around to encircle his waist.

The music starts, and they begin to waltz.

***

It’s been two days since Maul’s offer, and Obi-Wan still can’t quite believe they’re here.

‘Here’ being in one another’s arms, twirling around the sumptuous ballroom of the royal palace of Lentinus, a neutral world at the edges of wild space. Around them, hundreds of couples of two dozen different species – some of which Obi-Wan doesn’t recognise – dance past, their bright and varied clothing dazzling under a shifting rainbow of lights refracted through a fortune’s worth of crystals gilding the high ceiling. Lining one wall is a buffet table the approximate length of a star destroyer, with towers of sweets and fountains of Corellian brandy. However, even Obi-Wan has to admit that the palace is more than just lavish. Beyond the expensive decorations laid on for this, the Lentinis’ most sacred annual festival, the building itself is genuinely beautiful. It almost reminds him of the Jedi Temple – all graceful arches and vaulted windows, opening onto the sight of the jungle canopy below, serene under the moonlight. And, of course, tucked away somewhere in the depths of the palace is one of the galaxy’s oldest and most arcane libraries, home to ancient texts even the Jedi Order can only dream about.

The Order has dreamt of them, in fact, for centuries. Lentinus and its archives are legend on Coruscant; Obi-Wan recalls that Madam Jocasta Nu, in her youth, apparently led several expeditions to try and locate the fabled world, but all of them came up empty-handed. Which is one of many reasons it was such a shock when Maul called him out of the blue with an invitation to a royal reception on Lentinus… on one condition.

Obi-Wan blinked at the flickering hologram, feeling his head swim as though he’d just made the jump to hyperspace in a ship with malfunctioning dampeners. “Come again?”

“Those are my terms,” Maul replied. His voice was at its most disarmingly – one might say _insidiously –_ mild. (Obi-Wan wondered when he’d become so intimately familiar with the various tones of Maul’s voice.) “You may accept them, or forego the chance of ever exploring the Lentini royal library. I hear tell that their texts on military tactics and history, as well as on the use of the Force in battle, are quite extraordinary. Who knows what affect such knowledge might have on your precious war? If you feel the price is too high, though –”

“I – you want me to be your _husband_?”

There was the faintest of pauses. “No. I want you to attend the festival in the _guise_ of my husband. The Lentinis have… complex beliefs about duality and oneness; they think couples symbolise the balance of the Force, Dark and Light. This festival, when the very secretive royal family opens their doors to a select few, could be my – our – chance to petition them for access to their archives, but while I may have secured an invitation, I would be refused entry if I tried to attend without my...” Maul’s face twisted momentarily. “ _Partner_ in tow.”

“I’m surprised you don’t just turn up at the palace and kick the door down.”

“And I am surprised you’re encouraging me.” Favouring Obi-Wan with a slight smirk in response to the Jedi’s narrowed eyes, Maul continued, “I had considered it, and I may yet. However, this is the fastest way.”

“What’s the rush? What are you so keen to get out of all this, Maul?”

“My motivations are not part of the deal.” Even across parsecs, through the crackling blue light of a distant transmission, Maul seemed to look straight _into_ him for a moment. “Choose quickly, Kenobi.”

***

“I take it you still won’t tell me why _you’re_ here,” Obi-Wan remarks, most of the way through their first waltz. Maul scoffs quietly in his ear, before turning back to his close examination of every wall and light fixture they sashay past, as if the entrance to the palace’s secret archives might lie behind any one of them. “Then perhaps you’ll answer a different question?”

Without loosening his hold around Obi-Wan’s waist, Maul leans back far enough to look his dance partner in the eyes. “Unlikely,” he murmurs, but that all-too-familiar yellow gaze is wary, rather than hostile. The song ends on a crashing final chord, and Obi-Wan and Maul separate long enough to bow to one another. Their hands stay linked between them. It’s a strange sight, the Jedi’s bare skin and the Sith’s gloved fingers twined together.

“Where,” Obi-Wan begins, tugging Maul close again as the band strikes up something with a faster tempo, “did Darth Maul, of all people, learn to dance?”

That doesn’t seem to be the kind of question Maul was expecting. His steps don’t falter, but his eyes widen and then dart away before he manages to get out, “The same way I learn whatever I require to fulfil my plans. Observation. It isn’t difficult,” he adds, and as if to prove his point, he deftly twirls Obi-Wan away from him and then pulls him back, dipping him momentarily over his knee.

Obi-Wan would like to believe that his sudden dizziness is no more than the result of the spin, but as he finds himself looking _up_ at Maul – suspended off-balance, with nothing but Maul’s embrace to keep him from falling – he’s forced to admit that it’s… disorienting. They’re pressed close, with only the thin silk of Maul’s outfit (and not even that, in places – _why_ the man insists on wearing his shirts slit practically down to the waist, Obi-Wan will never know) and the flimsy fabric of his own formalwear proving a very insufficient protection against the distracting heat of Maul’s skin. It’s not like he’s never been this close to Maul before. But to have his enemy’s arms around him, and not have to be afraid; to have all of Maul’s considerable strength and focus concentrated on him, but not to hurt him…

Well.

Obi-Wan steps away when Maul lets him up, and is so absorbed in catching his breath (under the pretext of straightening his clothes) that he almost misses Maul’s question in return. And then, without thinking, blurts out a more honest answer than he intended.

“Mmm? Oh, I suppose I learned on Mandalore. My –” He bites down on the word “master”; he doesn’t want to think of Qui-Gon around Maul, afraid of either the rush of anger that combination always used to bring, or of the absence of that anger, and what that might mean. “I spent a year there in my youth, and I had a – friend – from among the nobility.” It makes the whole thing sound considerably more civilised than it was – all that time spent on the run from bounty hunters through Mandalore’s least hospitable landscapes – but that year did teach him to dance, among other things. He can still remember Satine steering him gently through the steps by the light of a guttering campfire, their feet scuffling through the fallen leaves.

He smiles, momentarily far away.

“Dancing lessons with Mandalorian nobility. What a terribly _charming_ upbringing you had,” Maul drawls, his lip curling.

Nettled – as much at himself for giving Maul such a personal detail, as at Maul’s response – Obi-Wan smiles brilliantly as they execute a complex turn together. “It had its advantages. At least I learned the basics of decorum, such as how to dress for an occasion like this.”

“Oh, really? Buttoned up so stiffly you could be mistaken for an Arakein monk?”

“At least _I_ don’t look like a particularly unsubtle assassin droid. Do you even own anything that isn’t black?”

Maul makes a soft _tch_ under his breath, and twirls Obi-Wan a little harder than is strictly necessary. “You are insufferable.”

“You’re the one who invited me along tonight.”

“Hardly by choice!”

“And you think _I’m_ insufferable? Who was so hard up for allies that he could find no one else to help him but his sworn enemy?” Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow as he slides his foot between Maul’s for one of the dance’s flasier moves. “I notice even your faithful shadow seems to have abandoned you. Where _is_ your apprentice, anyway?”

“Savage’s whereabouts are none of your concern.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve also managed to drive him away –”

“ _Don’t, Jed_ _i.”_

Maul’s face is suddenly inches from his own, yellow eyes smouldering, and that silken voice has dipped into a dangerous growl. And then, just like that, he’s gone; Obi-Wan can only watch, bewildered, as his “date” stalks off the dance floor.

***

It’s a relief, really, is what Obi-Wan tells himself. The party may be exclusive, but there are still dozens and dozens of guests; if he and Maul are to get close enough to the royal couple to present their request tonight, they’ll need to work the room, and that ought to be easier if they aren’t joined at the hip. He should be glad to be rid of Maul.

The fact that he isn’t nags at him, but he puts that aside for now, and sets to work.

His first discovery is that most of the Lentinis (a delicate, froglike people) in the room seem to be related to the royal family in one way or another. In theory, this should be a great advantage; any one of them might be able to introduce Maul and himself to the monarchs. Getting chatting with the Lentini guests also proves surprisingly easy. Unfortunately, turning the conversation in the direction he wants it to go is more complicated, because of Obi-Wan’s second discovery:

The fact that every guest at the party is here with their partner doesn’t stop the Lentinis from being outrageous flirts. Something Obi-Wan – an admitted outrageous flirt himself – would normally embrace, but it appears that flirting with them in return is taken to be a concrete promise. And that’s when the Lentinis tend to get… handsy.

“No, truly, madam,” he’s pleading with an older Lentini woman as he gently removes her flipper from his collar (what Maul called his monk-like outfit seems to have an irresistible allure for the Lentinis, who keep trying to get their hands underneath it). “I am terribly flattered, but as I was saying –”

“Is there a problem here, my own?”

The words are purred against his skin, as a gloved hand rakes affectionately through Obi-Wan’s hair and Maul is suddenly draped over him, pressed so tightly to his side that Obi-Wan imagines it’s impossible to glimpse light between them.

With some effort – because oh, that hand feels unaccountably _good,_ how long has it been since someone’s stroked his hair like that? - Obi-Wan turns his head just far enough to see Maul smiling politely while glaring daggers at the Lentini. The woman turns a much paler shade of green and mutters something about refreshing her drink as she bustles away.

“She was hardly a threat,” Obi-Wan protests mildly.

“And I hardly threatened her. I simply exercised my facility for _driving people away,_ as you put it.” Maul primly withdraws his touch. Brushing off his clothes, he says, without looking at Obi-Wan, “It was evident she was upsetting you from across the room.”

Obi-Wan, who was about to say something cutting in response, feels the words die in his throat. He blinks. “Thank you.”

Maul looks as taken aback by the words as Obi-Wan is at having said them. “I...” He coughs, and adds brusquely, “I have found someone willing to make an introduction to the queens. We should not keep her waiting.” He holds out his hand, palm up – naturally, as if he simply expects Obi-Wan to take it.

And Obi-Wan does.

***

The evening’s trials, however, aren’t done yet.

For a moment, it seems as though they might actually pull this off. The two of them bow as elegantly as they know how in front of the royal couple, who acknowledge the courtesy with a gracious wave. Maul says a few frothy words about bringing the humble greetings of Dathomir to the two queens, as Obi-Wan manages to school his expression so that his incredulity doesn’t show, and he himself then follows up with wishes of peace and friendship from the Jedi Council. The queens nod to one another and croak approvingly.

But no sooner does Maul make his request than the royal chamberlain’s staff slams down onto the ballroom floor, sending out a ringing boom that spreads like a ripple and slowly silences the guests around them.

“His Excellency the Chamberlain says that no boons will be granted by Their Majesties tonight,” the protocol droid translates. “If you wish to petition Their Majesties, you are invited to return at the closing ceremony of the festival in –”

“A _month’s_ time?” Maul growls. “No. You don’t – _Your Majesties –_ you don’t understand. I have risked much to be here, and I cannot –”

Obi-Wan puts his hand on Maul’s arm. The queens are starting to look alarmed at the expression on Maul’s face, and the way he’s begun to loom over them; and there are stormclouds gathering on the face of the chamberlain. Either they’re going to get thrown out, or Maul is about to start ripping people’s limbs off – or, more likely, first one and then the other.

“What my husband means to say,” Obi-Wan intervenes, “is that we have not explained ourselves properly. You see, Your Majesties, tonight is a special night for us as well. It is the anniversary of our marriage – the night when we two became as one within the Force, just as your beautiful festival celebrates.” Obi-Wan reaches for Maul’s hands, and Maul – possibly out of sheer confusion – reaches back; with their hands clasped between them, Obi-Wan continues, trying to gaze at Maul with as much adoration as he can muster.

It’s not as though the man is hard to look at. In fact, Obi-Wan has long admitted there’s something… something _regal,_ at least, about Maul, with his golden eyes and crown of horns, and the way he moves, halfway between a stalking predator and a king. This time, though, Obi-Wan really lets his gaze linger on Maul’s face: on the intricate markings, the thin, mobile lips that always seem to be in motion with every flicker of Maul’s expression. He takes his time, finally meandering back up to Maul’s eyes… and sees surprise there, and perhaps a glimmer of something more.

“We were so honoured by your invitation, in part because of this lucky alignment,” Obi-Wan continues. “And in Jedi culture – as I believe is the case in yours – knowledge is prized above all.” As a matter of fact, he knows nothing of the sort about the Lentinis, but any royal family with such an extensive archive must at least like to hear that they prize knowledge. “To learn together is to reaffirm a sacred bond. We had so hoped that you might do us the great favour of allowing us to honour your customs by reaffirming our bond – our balance – tonight.”

As a final touch, he gives the queens’ minds the gentlest of nudges through the Force, moving his fingers automatically against Maul’s as he does so; Maul clearly recognises the gesture, and his mouth turns up at one side, but he says nothing.

The two queens exchange some intense croaking, while the whole ballroom watches, rapt. Finally, both monarchs turn to the chamberlain, and rhythmically bob their throats. The chamberlain raps his staff again on the ground, three times in rapid succession.

Cheers erupt.

“The boon is granted!” says the protocol droid. “His Excellency the Chamberlain will escort you to the archives, where you may learn together as you please for the month of the festival.”

As they leave the ballroom, Maul murmurs, “Our anniversary?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot to get me a present, darling,” Obi-Wan grins.

***

It takes Obi-Wan a solid thirty seconds to be able to speak again after the archive doors swing open, and he’s confronted with a room that would put even the Jedi Temple’s libraries to shame.

It isn’t even a room, so much as a cathedral: the same soaring architecture as the ballroom, but on a truly vast scale. Shelves upon shelves of texts stretch away upwards into the gloom, and along every wall into the darkness beyond. Some of the higher shelves appear to hold older texts that aren’t normal digital files; some are contained in structures not unlike holocrons, while others are on printed-out stacks of flimsi or even scratched onto wood pulp or stone.

“Some of these are Jedi texts,” he murmurs as he practically dances along one of the aisles, fingers skimming the spines. “There are authors here I’ve only seen referred to; all their works were thought lost. This is _astonishing,_ Maul –”

His companion, though, is already delving into the main terminal, searching through all of the archive’s listings. And over the next hour or so, while Obi-Wan happily begins making a list of all the texts he wants to request copies of for Madam Jocasta, Maul only seems to grow more and more agitated, until he finally hurls one of the datapads across the room.

Obi-Wan glances up in shock, and meets Maul’s gaze. He doesn’t look angry, he looks…

By the Force. Maul looks afraid.

As soon as their eyes lock, Maul turns away. Obi-Wan, curious as he is, is nevertheless prepared to let it go when Maul abruptly says, “Savage is sick.”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says quietly. He’s a little surprised to find he means it – not just for Savage’s sake, but also for Maul’s. “What does he have?”

“He was bitten by a creature when we stopped off for supplies on an uncharted planet. The would refuses to close, and the infection is spreading throughout his body. I’ve taken him to half a dozen doctors on half a dozen worlds, but none of them know anything like it.” From Maul’s expression, Obi-Wan imagines he wouldn’t want to be one of those doctors. “I’d thought that if anywhere might hold any information about a cure, it would be here.”

“That’s why you couldn’t wait a month.”

Maul nods jerkily. “Savage – may not have that time.”

“Do you know anything about the creature that attacked him? An image, a description?”

“I was able to take an image. Here – and these are its tracks, and the place we found it.”

“Then let’s keep looking.”

It’s another few hours before Obi-Wan looks up from his books, and calls, “Maul!”

The Sith looks over. Obi-Wan holds up the text he’s been examining. There, on the centre of the page, is an ancient illustration, hand-drawn and faded by the centuries: the outline and the markings of the thing, however, are unmistakable.

Maul comes flying over. “Does it mention a treatment?”

“No, but it gives us a name, and with that -”

They both race for the main terminal, although Maul reaches it first, and immediately begins to direct Obi-Wan which texts to pull. Within half an hour, they’ve found the same cure mentioned across multiple texts.

There’s a lightness to Maul’s step as they leave the archive (Obi-Wan already making plans to return in the morning), and follow the sounds of excited chatter back to the ballroom.

***

When they arrive, the entire roof has been retracted, leaving the room open to the stars. A single white firework ascends and bursts above them. The guests all applaud. A song begins, dozens of voices joining in, and swells until it crescendos just as the second firework launches.

“‘And so the opening ceremonies end with the juxtaposition of Light against Dark,’” Maul recites, clearly drawing from some ritual text. More fireworks, these ones in a dazzling array of colours, explode around them. All across the ballroom, couples are exchanging kisses or nuzzles beneath the display.

Obi-Wan is about to ask if this is considered good luck when Maul says, “Don’t imagine this means that I won’t kill you when we next meet, Kenobi.”

“Don’t imagine that _what,_ exactly, means...” Obi-Wan trails off as Maul lifts a gloved hand to cup Obi-Wan’s face, thumb softly rubbing over his cheekbone.

For the first time since Obi-Wan has known him, though, Maul hesitates. He leans forward slowly, fraction by fraction, as if he’s waiting every second for Obi-Wan to pull away –

Obi-Wan closes the gap and kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should point out that "Lentinus" is taken from "Valentinus", the Latin name for St. Valentine. :)


End file.
